


Not the Only One (Rewritten)

by EbonyNevaeh



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 23:33:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9263765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EbonyNevaeh/pseuds/EbonyNevaeh
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is the only consulting detective in the world... that he knows of. What would happen if a certain red headed detective suddenly showed up at a crime scene and manipulated her way into the boys lives? Who is this woman? What is she doing in London? More importantly, how will Sherlock react?This story focuses a lot on a female OC and Sherlock interacting. Sherlock is OCC at times (sorry) and I've messed with the timeline so that Blind Banker came before Study in Pink.





	

You know where   
to find me.  
SH

Detective Lestrade glanced down at his phone and grimaced. Sliding his phone back into his pocket he glanced at the room of reporters in front of him.   
“Thank you,” Lestrade quickly brought the press conference to an end as he stood from his seat in front of the various microphones and began to move towards the door. As he was walking back towards his office, Sergeant Sally Donovan came up beside him irritated.   
“You’ve got to stop him doing that. He’s making us look like idiots.”  
“Well,” Lestrade snapped back. “If you can tell me how he does it, I’ll stop him.” As Lestrade strode away from Donovan his phone buzzed quickly in his pocket again. With a huff he took it out, expecting another text from the cause of his foul mood. Instead the detective froze where he was before turning back to Officer Donovan. 

“Get Sherlock on the scene of the most recent suicide, I don’t care you don’t like him, we need him. We won’t be able to solve this on our own. I’m heading to the airport.” Before Donovan could response he rushed out and into his car. It had begun to rain by the time he reached the airport. Quickly he got out of the car and rushed to the runway. Pulling the collar on his jacket up to shield against the cold drizzle he reached the sleek private jet sitting on the runway just in time for the metal staircase to rattle up to the cabin door. Impatiently Lestrade stopped at the bottom and waited for the door to open. Soon enough a woman emerged from the cabin of the plane. 

“Why is it always raining in London?” Her bitter American accent sounded sharper than normal to Lestrade, but then again, he also hadn’t seen her since she was 19 and she wasn’t the same hopeful young woman anymore. She had a few years of experience in the field dealing with the world’s worst, chasing desperately after her parents legacy. The thought of her parents, his friends, drew Lestrade from his thoughts and he offered a smile and his arm to the young woman as she came down the staircase.

“Perhaps it’s because the city knows your coming and weeps at the loss of its sanity,” He commented sarcastically. The woman let out a small snort and smiled at him.

“You’ve always been so mean to me Lestrade,” She said with a small laugh as Lestrade grabbed her bag from the crew and began walking her to the car. “But all else aside, you said you have a case that needs solving while I’m here?” 

“Ah yes, well it’s odd really,” Lestrade commented as he opened the door for her and waited for her slide into the warm car before closing the door. He placed her bag in the trunk before moving around the driver’s side and getting in as well. As he put his seatbelt on he continued. “We’ve had three serial suicides, all of them with no notes; however, there’s been a fourth and...”

“This one left a note,” the woman finished for him.   
“Exactly,” Lestrade confirmed as he pulled away from the airport. As they began to move through the roads of the city the woman looked over at Lestrade and asked.

“Have you told Sherlock yet?”

Lestrade glanced at her before grimacing.

“Unfortunately, I didn’t know if you were going to come this way. I know you were on your way to Thailand to…”

“Thailand was a dead end.” The woman interrupted Lestrade, her mood suddenly sour. “He keeps moving them every time I get a lead.”

“Have you considered the possibility that they’re…”

“No. They aren’t dead.”

“But there is no way you can know that.”

“Of course I know it!” The woman exclaimed, her fist making contact with the dashboard of the car. “He’s a textbook alpha male! If he had killed them he would have put their heads on pikes on the fucking London Bridge!”

There was a moment of silence in the car as they pulled up to the newest crime scene. 

“Let’s just go solve your case,” She muttered angrily before stalking out of the car and up to the door of the crime scene. On her way into the building she was stopped by Sergeant Donovan.

“And who the hell are you?” She asked exasperated. Clearly she had just dealt with the boy genius Sherlock Holmes. The woman pulled a black wallet out of her pocket and showed her ID to the other woman. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

“I was invited by Lestrade, will you let me by now or do you really want to go through this all again, because I can say everything again just so all of the officers here can hear it as well.” The woman asked exasperated. Sally Donovan simply stepped to the side and the younger woman immediately darted up the staircase, Sergeant Donovan a step behind and Lestrade a step behind her. Soon enough the woman reached the top of the stairs and just as Anderson opened his mouth she simply blew by him and Lestrade simply shook his head in a signal not the start anything. Breezing past the blue suits she simply grabbed a pair of gloves and strode into the room, ignoring the current explanation by Sherlock she bent over the body and began to examine it. Silently she took in everything, along with Sherlock’s explanation, up until Anderson interjected.

“She’s German,” He announced from the doorway. “Rache: it’s German for revenge-“

The young woman interrupted him with a scoff. “She’s not German, but she is from out of town.” Donovan’s jaw dropped, this wasn’t the American accent they had first been greeted with, but a homegrown London accent. She turned to look at Lestrade who shook his head again. Finally Sherlock paused with his mouth open, clearly about to interject as well, and acknowledged the young woman currently bent over the body. “She intended to stay in London for a night before going home. Now where is home? Judging by the fact that the underside of her collar is still damp, probably Cardiff, if not it would be somewhere close to it.” The young woman stated matter-of-factly as she stood and turned to face Sherlock. “What, have I rendered you speechless? Well, go on, don’t gape. It doesn’t suit you.” 

“Who are you?” Sherlock demanded once he had gathered his thoughts. The woman merely grinned and turned to Lestrade. 

“You’re victim is in her late thirties. Going by her clothes she is some type of professional person. Likely something in the media, it’s the only profession where she could get away with wearing so much pink. She would have brought an overnight bag with her, she only meant to stay the night.” The woman summarized. Sherlock frowned at the young woman. 

“How did you know about the suitcase?” Sherlock asked with what was almost a pout.

“Oh dear, you’re not the only one that can see the stains on the back of her hose. I’ve had to deal with those before, I know what it looks like when an overnight bag gets drug through a puddle and plashes up to stain the back of hosiery. It’s an irritating situation, almost as irritating as having a run in hose.” The young woman answered. Sherlock finally snapped out of his state of shock and turned to Lestrade.

“She’s been married for at least ten years, but not happily. She probably had a string of lover but none of them knew she was married. Just look at her wedding ring. It’s at least 10 years old. She takes good care of her jewelry; it’s all regularly cleaned, except for her wedding ring.” Sherlock interrupted quickly, not to have the spotlight taken from him.

“The only cleaning it gets is when she works it off her finger,” the woman commented drily.  
“She doesn’t take it off for work, just look at her fingernails. She doesn’t work with her hands. So what- or rather- who does she take her ring off for? Clearly not one lover, She’d never sustain being single for that amount of time.” Sherlock continued. 

“So a string of lovers, now, do you want to explain how we know she’s from Cardiff? Or should I?” The young woman asked. Sherlock, even though he wished to continue, gestured for her to continue the explanation to use this time to observe this new addition. 

“It’s her coat; the underside of the collar is still slightly damp as I said earlier as is the rest of the coat. This means that she was in heavy rain. She had the collar turned up against the wind. She has an umbrella on her, in her left hand pocket, but it’s dry. This means the wind was too strong to use an umbrella. We know that because she had an overnight bag she much have come a decent distance but no more than two or three hours since her coat still hadn’t dried. Then it was just a matter of looking up where there had been heavy rain and strong wind within that travel time leading to Cardiff.” She explained before turning to Sherlock with a smile. “Correct?” He merely gave a nod in response. 

“Ok, I understand that but why do you keep saying suitcase?” Lestrade asked.

“Yes, where is it? She must have had a phone or an organizer of some sort.” Sherlock spun in a circle searching the room quickly for the suitcase.

“You’re going to need to find out who Rachel is,” The woman continued for him as she pulled out her phone and began to type. 

“She was writing Rachel?” Lestrade asked.

“No, she was writing and angry letter in German,” Sherlock sneered.

“The real question is, why would she wait until she was dying to write it?” The woman asked rhetorically. 

“How d’you know she had a suitcase?” Lestrade interrupted yet again.

“Back of the right leg; tiny splash marks on her heel and calf yet not present on her left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase with her right hand. That splash pattern doesn’t occur in any other way. Smallish going by the size of the spread. A woman this clothes conscious, must be an overnight bag.” Sherlock explained. 

“So where is the case?” The woman asked. 

“There wasn’t any case when we got here,” Lestrade replied. Sherlock came to a sudden halt and the young woman paused as well. 

“Say that again,” Sherlock demanded quickly. 

“There wasn’t a case. There was never any suitcase.” Lestrade replied confused. Immediately Sherlock rushed out the door and begins to call out to all the officers in the house, the young woman only a step behind him.   
“Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase?” Sherlock called out. Lestrade and john both walked out of the room and leaned over the railing to shout down to Sherlock and the young woman. 

“Sherlock, there was no case!” Lestrade shouted. The two on the stairs began to slow down. 

“But the victims, the take the poison themselves; they swallow the pills of their own free will. They aren’t forced,” The young woman shouted back.

“There are clear signs, even you lot couldn’t miss them,” Sherlock shot at Lestrade. “It’s nurder, all of them. I don’t know how but they’re not suicides, they’re killings. We’ve got ourselves a serial killer, I love those. There’s always something to look forward to.”

“Why are you saying that?” Lestrade questioned.

“Where is her case? It didn’t walk off on it’s own! Someone else was here and the must have taken the case.” The woman shouted up to the two men on the balcony. She quickly turned to Sherlock. “The killer must have driven her here and forgot the case was in the car.”

“Maybe she had just checked into a hotel, left her case there,” John proposed from up above. 

“No, she never went to the hotel. Just look at her hair. She color-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes there is no way she would leave a hotel with her hair looking –“

“Oh,” Sherlock interrupted the young woman’s rant with a wide eyed look of realization. “Oh!” Sherlock clapped his hands together excitedly . 

“What? What is it?” The young woman asked grabbing Sherlock’s elbows and forcing him to look at her. 

“Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake,” Sherlock rambled. The young woman nodded and continued to look at him. 

“Yes, yes, what is it? What’s the killers… oh. The case,” She trailed of before the same pieces connected in her head as well. 

“We don’t have time to wait!” Lestrade shouted down at the two.

“No, we’re done waiting. The killer’s already made his mistake,” The woman shouted. Sherlock began his descent down the stairs again and the woman followed soon after him. 

“Look at her, really look! Get on to Cardiff; find out who Jennifer Wilson’s family and friends were. Find Rachel!” Sherlock yelled at Lestrade. 

“Yeah, of course – but what mistake?!” Lestrade shouted as the two disappeared from view. The woman came back into view breathless with excitement. 

“Pink! The case is pink! And our murderer has it!” She shouted before following Sherlock out the door. Once the two were gone John groaned and looked at Lestrade. 

“We just lost them, didn’t we?” Lestrade asked tiredly.

“Of course we did, but who is the woman?” John asked Lestrade as they began to walk down the stairs. 

“Her name is Jezebel Blithe,” Lestrade answered as they reached the bottom of the stairs and they began to remove the blue crime scene suits. “She’s an old family friend of mine. I’ve know her since she was a little girl. She does the same work as Sherlock.” 

“So why is she here?”

“I invited her, she needed something to get her mind off her current situation,” Lestrade explained as they walked out to the street. John pulled out his cell and called a cab for himself. 

“And what would that situation be?”

“It’s not my story to tell.”

“Alright then,” John replied as his cab pulled up. “Goodnight, Lestrade.”


End file.
